


Something Different

by mansikka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Needs to Use Actual Words, First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Oblivious Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 02:16:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5894239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First dates are hard. Especially when one of the people on the date doesn't actually know they're on one...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Different

“Have dinner with me tonight, Cas?” Dean’s voice was hesitant to his own ear, betraying the nervousness in the simplicity of his question.

 

Cas nodded without looking up, continuing to turn the pages of the heavy book laid out on the table at the same steady pace he had been doing for the past hour. “Of course.”

 

“Just you and me. Okay?” Dean’s words came out in a rush and he flinched when Cas raised a curious eye to him.

 

“What about Sam?”

 

“Sam’s busy. Doing Sam stuff. Besides,” he added, still rushing through his words as he crosses his arms tightly across his chest. “Thought it’d be n- good… for us. Catch up. You know?”

 

Cas gave a curious smile, nodding again. “Of course, Dean. That would be good.”

 

“Good! Good. Okay then. I’ll… I’ll let you get back to your research.” Dean turned away quickly on his heel and let out a long, steadying breath, leaving Cas to stare after him before returning to his book.

 

***

 

Cas looked out of the passenger window, hand idly tapping along to the music against the base of the glass. They passed a diner and something that looked like a giant steakhouse before turning into a parking space outside a beautifully-lit restaurant with a warm glow exuding from inside.

 

Cas knew this wasn't their usual place of choice for food and turned to Dean, a question clear in his expression.

 

Dean cleared his throat. “Thought we’d try something new seeing it’s just us. Saw this place yesterday when we were passing. Figured we’d give it a go.”

 

Cas smiled, “Of course. It looks Italian?”

 

Dean nodded in agreement. “Yeah, Italian. Are we heading in?” He cracked the door open and stepped out into the cold night air, watching his breath steam in front of him as he waited for Cas to climb out of his side of the car.

 

At the door of the restaurant, Dean cleared his throat again and stopped Cas with a hand lightly on his forearm. Reaching forward, he tugged on the cold metal handle and gestured for Cas to go in first.

 

The waitress studied them for a moment at the ‘wait here’ sign, taking in the calmness of Cas and the trepidation of Dean. She smiled knowingly, giving Dean a wink, then led them to the furthest side of the restaurant into one of the boothed tables that offered a little privacy.

 

They slid in either side of the booth, Dean studying Cas as he took in their surroundings in interest.

 

They ordered, bruschetta to start, and two unpronounceable pasta dishes for main. Dean fiddled with the edge of his napkin as they waited for their drinks, uncomfortable with their comfortable silence and scratching around in his brain for an opening to conversation.

 

Finally he settled with, “So Cas. This okay?”

 

Again, Cas looked confused. “I don’t know-”

 

“This. You, me, dinner. It’s okay?”

 

“We have eaten together numerous times before, Dean.” Cas replied, reasonably. “The restaurant is a little...different....but that is all. We've never had a problem eating together before.”

 

“Right. Right. Same as always…” Dean’s voice trailed away with a forlorn edge to it, the napkin between fingers shredding in one violent twist.

 

Their drinks arrived then, and Cas’ eyes stayed intently on Dean, aware something was on his mind.

 

The beer in Dean’s hand seemed to calm him; he took a long pull and launched into their usual small talk, albeit a little more stiffly than normal. Conversations about Sam, their latest hunt, what TV shows Dean thought Cas should watch next and what books Cas thought Dean might like. The usual.

 

The bruschetta was deemed a messy success, with both of them dropping pieces onto their plates with embarrassed laughs. Dean’s tension disappeared at that, his eyes shining at the look on Cas’ face as he fought to keep everything in one place.

 

Their pasta dishes met with approval too; Dean nudged his plate towards Cas so he could try some of his and Cas mirrored his gesture.

 

The evening was easy, and comfortable, and any awkwardness that had been there, admittedly being on Dean’s part only, had gone without any trace. Especially after a steady stream of beer.

 

Dean insisted Cas try tiramisu, even when Cas protested that he was too full. They agreed on one piece to share, and before Dean could stop himself, he’d slid a fork through the layers so that every flavour was present and correct. Leaning across the table, he held the fork out to Cas, pausing it just in front of his lips.

 

Dean’s eyes fixed firmly on those lips, licking his own as he waited for Cas to move. Cas opened his mouth slowly, leaning forward to taste. He dragged the full piece of tiramisu off of the end of the fork and into his mouth, unaware of how still Dean had become as he did. He chewed, savouring it, swallowed it down with a smile of approval.

 

“This is very good, Dean. I think I like tiramisu.”

 

Dean smiled, gathering another piece onto his fork and reaching out again. Cas accepted it with no complaint, heaving a little sigh of contentment.

 

“Are you not having any?” Cas asked, when Dean didn’t take any himself.

 

Dean dragged his eyes away from Cas, taking a bite, and when he raised his head again he found Cas watching him in thought.

 

“Something is different about this meal.”

 

Cas’ statement set Dean’s heart off thudding in protest and he broke eye contact, fingers nervously strumming against his beer.

 

“Dean.”

 

Dean’s hand flew to the back of his neck, his unconscious thinking spot. “It doesn't have to be different. Not if you don’t want it to be.” was all Dean could offer; the words he wanted to say seemed stuck in his throat, and he closed his eyes in disappointment at himself.

 

“How can I want it to be anything when I don’t know what’s different?” bewilderment was evident in Cas’ words, and Dean felt his face flush.

 

“Cas. Come on. I know you’re not...fluent… in human but come on, man. I've been pretty obvious.”

 

Cas continued to stare at him blankly and Dean sighed in exasperation.

 

“Alright. Pretend you’re doing your observing thing, and watching us. From the outside. I've asked you out to dinner - alone. Taken you to a place we’d never normally come to. We've sat here, just us, and I've even fed you dessert off of my own fork.” Dean hated that familiar feeling of blushing raging across his cheeks. “Don’t make me say it, Cas. What’s it look like to you?”

 

Cas took in the flush to Dean’s face, the uncomfortable way he was sitting, and narrowed his eyes in thought.

 

What seemed like several minutes later, Cas answered uncertainly, “It would look to me as though we were on a date, Dean.”

 

“It would.” Dean’s tone was part confirmation, part embarrassment.

 

Cas’ face was a mask, but the thoughts rushing through his mind then made his response curt, and sure. “But this can’t be a date, Dean.”

 

And in that moment, Dean wanted to slide from the seat and run. The plummeting of his heart into his stomach made him feel sick and sweaty all over.

 

Cas noticed the immediate change in Dean’s stature and frowned even harder, tried again. “It can’t be a date, Dean, because in order for it to be a date, you would have had to have asked me.”

 

Dean startled at that. Had he not been obvious enough? “I did ask you, Cas.”

 

“You asked me to have dinner with you.”

 

When Dean said nothing, Cas felt a solitary clutch at his chest and tried for a third time. “But you did not say it was a date.” Cas maintained to himself that he was right. Even if his heart was beating its own excited little rhythm. Even if perhaps his naivety had meant he’d found himself in the middle of something very, very good for once.

 

“Well. Strictly speaking, you don’t have to say the word ‘date’ for the event to ‘be’ a date. You just… you know. Assume.” Dean kicked himself again for overestimating Cas’ understanding of, well. So many things.

 

“Oh.” was all Cas could manage, because it looked suspiciously like that was a confirmation.

 

“Out of interest. If I’d have used the word date. What would you have said?” Dean’s fingers started up their nervous worrying of everything within his reach, and he avoided eye contact.

 

“I would have said yes, obviously.”

 

Dean’s fingers paused and the fork he’d been spinning clattered to the plate. “You...would?”

 

“Obviously.”

 

Dean stared back at Cas, temporarily lost for words.

 

Impatience crept in on Cas, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the edge of the table. “Dean.”

 

“It’s a date, Cas.” Dean blurted, fists bumping against the table. “It’s a date. I've been wanting to do something about...this thing between us for so long, but I keep coming up with excuses.”

 

“Why?” and there was genuine bafflement in Cas’ question.

 

Which was exactly why Dean didn't do ‘this stuff’. He didn't know how. Didn't have the words for it. “This is me we’re talking about. I'm not good at...this. Besides,” He added, shifting in his seat, “I've never really figured out if you knew what you were doing.”

 

“What I was doing?”

 

Dean laughed, but there was no humour at all. “The way you are with me. The way I am with you. How we’re...different. With each other. To the way we are with other people.”

 

Cas looked away, and swallowed. “I am aware.”

 

Dean pressed his fingers into the tabletop then, watching them splayed. “If you’re aware, does that mean you feel something? For me?”

 

“Of course, Dean, I-”

 

“I meant beside the friendship and the watching each other’s backs crap. Something else. Something more.” Dean couldn't keep the hope from his voice no matter how hard he tried.

 

Cas bunched his fingers into the legs of his jeans. Took a deep breath. Looked Dean directly in the eyes. “Yes, Dean. I've always felt something ‘more’ for you. Always.”

 

Dean splayed his hands in a gesture that screamed helplessness. “Then how come you never said anything either?”

 

Cas shrugged. “I assumed you did not reciprocate.”

 

Dean glared then, and without warning leaned across to grab the collar of Cas’ shirt, dragging him forward. “Reciprocate this.” he whispered, pressing his lips hard against Cas’ and demonstrating in no uncertain terms what he had not been able to verbalise for many years.

 

***

 

Later Dean would ask if Cas had even wanted it to be a date. Apologise for not making his intentions clearer. Tense in silence fearing a negative response from him.

 

And Cas would smile, looking down at their entwined fingers and nuzzling his shoulder with a contented sigh.

 

“Of course, Dean. I have been waiting forever for you to ask.”

 


End file.
